


Regency Wedding Night

by MizJoely



Series: Sherlolly Bits and Bobs [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Smut, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14593539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: As advertised. A new Sherlolly Bits n Bobs ficlet for your reading pleasure.





	Regency Wedding Night

**Author's Note:**

> I was going through my file of bits and pieces and found the first few paragraphs and managed to make it into a bit of something. Something naughty, of course!

Sherlock is panting, grunting as he eases himself back out of her a bit before once again surging forward. Molly's hands are on his shoulders and she's staring raptly at his face. His eyes are screwed shut, his brow furrowed and damp with sweat as he pulls back once more - and then suddenly he gives a loud grunt and surges forward again, and she can feel that he's fully, completely inside her now. She gives a startled 'Oh' at the sensation and he stills, his eyes snapping open to meet hers. "Am I hurting you?" he asks, sounding much less assured than before.

Before the furrow between his eyes can do more than deepen with concern, she shakes her head and smiles. "No, I like it, it feels wonderful." And it does, it does, more wonderful than she'd expected or hoped. Yes, there's a slight burn, but nowhere near the pain her Aunt Lavinia had warned her about in dark whispers as she helped prepare her for her wedding night.

She wonders if this is because she's with the man she loves. Or is it because the man she loves feels as ardently for her as she does him?

In the end, she knows it doesn't matter; all that does matter is that they are together, that they have proclaimed their love for one another and will spend the rest of their lives together.

"Say it again," he mumbles against the heated flesh of her neck. He lifts his head, looks into her eyes, and what she sees their causes her breath to catch. He's open, vulnerable, even a little bit frightened. "Please, Molly. Say it again."

She smiles, pulls him down so that their foreheads touch, their breaths mingle. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes," she says.

"And I love you, Molly Holmes," he replies, capturing her lips in a fervent kiss. She returns it just as passionately, and in that moment, with nothing but the purest love in her heart, she reaches the pinnacle of physical ecstasy. It crests over her like a wave, entirely unexpected, and she cries out against Sherlock's mouth, feels his lips curling into a smile as she strains against him in an effort to keep the sensation from ebbing away.

Alas, physical pleasure is only too fleeting, and all too soon she shudders and comes fully back to herself. Sherlock has stopped moving, courteously waiting on her pleasure before chasing his own. She encourages him to move; just because she was an untried virgin before this night - as was he! - doesn't mean she has no concept of how the act is meant to be accomplished. A scant few minutes later he tautens, strains, and she feels the hot pulse of his seed deep within her.

He shudders and gasps and lets out a guttural moan as his body stutters to a stop, and he comes to rest atop her only for a moment before raising himself on his elbows and gazing down at her. "I rather hope you conceive immediately, wife," he says with a wry grin after he's caught his breath again.

She raises an eyebrow, some imp causing her to say, "Oh? But didn't you once tell me that the only reason for such 'sweaty intimacies' was to conceive new life? If I do come away from this encounter with your child, won't that mean you'll stop desiring me?"

He lets out a soft huff of laughter, eases his way out of her body and falls to his back, curling her close to his side. "Hm, I do believe my unmarried self was a bit of a prig," he replies, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Yes, well, at least your married self knows better," she says, kissing the tip of his nose. She will never, ever tire of kissing him, any part of him, now that she knows how wonderful it feels to do so.

"My, aren't we confident," he teases. "What happened to the mousy miss my family ordered me to court?"

She reaches up, tenderly strokes her hand across his cheek, his brow, his sweat-dampened curls. "She disappeared into the past with your priggish unmarried self," she responds.

"And aren't we both happy to leave them there," he sighs, and presses a gentle, loving kiss to her lips. They fall asleep in one another's arms, content that, no matter what the future might bring them, they will always face it together.


End file.
